


At Best

by summerofspock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyota can tell something is up with Spock and the Captain, but she has other things to focus on like the refit of the Enterprise. Besides, they've come this far, haven't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I take some liberty with time jumps here. I've also taken some liberty with Swahili and liberally applied Google Translate. Forgive me. Please note my starship knowledge is mostly imagined and I hope I play it off. If not, lmk. This is a fic about Spock and Uhura and how they fell in and out of love. It's not nice. It's not easy. But it's...something.

“Go get him.”

The words refract in her head as she says them, each one a point of light slicing through the imminent darkness. They are forceful, and laced with barely leashed emotion. The emotion Spock can clearly no longer control. She makes the decision he cannot, gives him permission to break the rules, absolves his doubts. He would have gone any way. She makes it easier.

The captain is dead.

Dead so that they can live. And Nyota feels the rage and clawing sadness threaten to choke her, but she is a professional and there is a madman on the loose. Not for long, if Spock keeps the deadly promise that was in his eyes before he rushed to meet Khan.

It is days later that Nyota begins to think about what it means. According to all the texts, Vulcans cannot cry. She knows this. She remembers the aftermath of Vulcan and wishing that Spock could just cry. If he could cry, if he could grieve, maybe he could heal.

What does it say that he can cry for his captain, but not for the destruction of his homeworld? Of the woman he called mother?

This is the aftermath of death. The aftermath of everything.

**

Nyota does her best to keep in mind her grandmother’s words.

We are all growing, nzuri. Do not worry so much. You will be as you will be and then…who knows?

She tugs on her academy jacket, hating the gapping around her breasts. She’s going to have to take it in more. Stupid ‘Fleet-issued, one size piece of crap. Five years earlier she had been standing in front of a mirror during one of her visits to her grandmother’s house making the same complaints about her body.

 _I don’t even look like a girl._ She had whined, twisting her body around to examine the cant of her hips. She poked at them desolately, wishing for the curves she saw burgeoning on all the girls in her class.

_Hush, nzuri. Complaining takes you nowhere._

She closes her eyes and imagines she can smell the scent of nutmeg that always seemed to follow her grandmother. It soothes her to some degree before she steps into the overly crowded Academy Bookstore. It seems that she, like so many cadets, have some last minute purchases to make before the first day of official classes. She smiles quietly to herself before making quick work of the room. It still takes her thirty minutes, in-and-out, and she feels distinctly sweatier than when she entered, her uniform even more ill-fitting. Even if it’s just in her imagination.

Her arms are weighted with her purchases and she momentarily regrets refusing a bag. But she had just picked up the few data chips that she was missing and a new stylus for her ever-growing collection of padds. She re-adjusts the items in her hands and begins humming to herself as she makes her way across campus in the twilight.

The cool air of San Francisco differs so greatly from Koyo, but she likes the way the breeze smells of the ocean and drifts through the curtain of her hair. It reminds her of her time in Mombasa before her parents went off world. Koyo, on the other hand, only smelled of perpetually dying grass.

So absorbed in her thoughts, she stops paying attention to her feet and a large crack in the concrete catches the toe of her boot. She falls forward with a gasp of surprise, her purchases tumbling from her fingers as she attempts to catch herself with her hands. The concrete bites into her knees first, but she is more concerned with keeping her face from connecting with stone.

Groaning, she gingerly lifts her palms from the ground and—sure enough—little flecks of gray are imbedded in the flesh. She sinks back onto her feet and feels her skirt slip back over her ass from where it had flipped up. She grimaces, hoping that no one was around as she flashed the world.

She sucks in air through her teeth as she reaches out to pick up the few items she dropped. None of them look damaged.

A shadow falls over her hand as she picks up the last data chip and she resists the urge to immediately turn around. She collects herself and stands carefully before turning to regard the person standing behind her. Except it’s not a person at all. It’s a Vulcan. A gorgeous, black haired, pointy-eared Vulcan and Nyota has to remind herself that staring with your mouth open is considered rude in most Federation cultures. She smiles and wishes her hands weren’t full so that she could offer the ta’al.

“Everything all right, Cadet?” the Vulcan demands and Nyota puts two and two together as she takes in his regulation Blacks.

“Of course. Yeah, I’ve always been a little clumsy,” she says, a half-truth. Her sudden growth spurt of the last year has made her less aware of her limbs, but she’s certain it will fade with time.

“I see,” he says, arching one of his delicately pointed eyebrows and if Nyota were prone to swooning, she would swoon. Her stomach flops around indelicately and she tries not to laugh. “Perhaps you should watch where you are going.”

Nyota looks at the ground and blushes. She reminds herself that Vulcans can be like that. Abrasive.

“Yes, sir,” she murmurs, for lack of a better response.

“Perhaps you should also visit the Infirmary.”

Nyota meets his eyes and says, “I don’t see why that would be necessary, sir.”

“Your knees are bleeding rather profusely,” he points out with a small gesture in her direction.

She looks down and realizes he’s right, but she knows the damage isn’t any worse than the small dermal regenerator in her first aid kit can fix. “I can take care of it,” she retorts, realizing as the words slip from her mouth that they sound harsher than she intends. She looks back at the Vulcan with interest and notices his other eyebrow cants to match the height of the first one, but she puts her shoulders back, refusing to apologize.

He nods. “I will defer to your judgment,” he says before beginning to walk past her.

Something inside her makes her turn as he passes her and say, “Dif-tor heh smusma.”

She can’t be imagining the way his spine stiffens as he turns back to her and she thinks she sees confusion in his eyes as he searches her face for a split second. Mechanically, he raises his right hand in the ta’al before he walks away once more. He doesn’t say it back. And Nyota shouldn’t be surprised, but she is slightly disappointed. She hobbles back to her dorm, lost to memory of the first time she’d heard those words.

_“Bring this to our neighbor,” her grandmother says, dropping a basket of freshly baked bread into her arms._

_Nyota looks up at her, nervous. “But, bibi, I can’t. He’s scary.”_

_Her grandmother shakes her head with a laugh. “Why is that, nzuni?”_

_“He looks like the devil!” she says, but she feels ashamed, her ten-year-old brain fully aware of how silly she’s being. But that doesn’t change how she feels._

_Her grandmother kneels down in front of her and grasps her elbows. “Just because he looks like one, doesn’t mean he is one. He’s from another planet. Outer space. I’d thought you’d like that. Bring him this bread and invite him for dinner. Sawa?”_

_Nyota’s shame dissipates and is replaced with curiosity. “Sawa, bibi.”_

_She finds herself on her neighbor’s porch with a basket of bread and absolutely no idea what to say. She takes a deep breath and knocks. A moment passes before the door opens and Nyota finally sees the devil-man up close. His angular features remind Nyota of the paintings in her history books, but the effect is ruined by eyebrows that arc up and away from his temples. His brown hair is sleek and cut into a severe bowl cut just above the tips of his brows. He folds his arms into the pockets of his robes and regards her curiously before Nyota realizes she should introduce herself._

_“Hello. My name’s Nyota Uhura and my grandmother and I live next door. She sent me with this bread.”  Nyota holds the basket out abruptly and the tall devil-man plucks it from her grasp as if it weighs nothing._

_“Dif-tor heh smusma, Nyota. My name is Sartok. Your gift is appreciated.”_

_“What does that mean?” Nyota asks. “Not the thank you part,” she clarifies, “the dif-tor smoosma part.”_

_She already knows English, Swahili, French and she is swiftly learning sign language from her cousin, Epala, but she has never heard anything that sounds quite like what just came out of the devil-man’s mouth. She finds she wants to hear more._

_Sartok looks slightly surprised. “Dif-tor heh smusma,” he repeats._

_She repeats it back. His mouth curls at the edges and while it is not exactly a smile, Nyota is struck by its beauty. She feels suddenly nervous in this stranger’s presence._

_“It is a Vulcan greeting,” he explains, “it means: Live long and prosper.”_

Nyota sighs as she keys in the code to her room. It’s been awhile since she has thought about Sartok and it leaves her feeling empty. She tosses her data chips onto her desk and flops onto her bed, disregarding the state of her knees. Her skirt rides up obscenely, but it’s her room and she doesn’t care. She cranes her neck and glances at her white panties, wondering if the Vulcan professor got a look at them. She likes her underpants. They’re comfortable. Besides, even if the professor saw them, he’d probably thought they were logical.

Nyota bursts out laughing. Logical. Of course. She lets her hands rest on her stomach as her laughter fades into a smile and she is reminded of her fall by the sting in her palms. She brings them up to eye level and inspects the damage. She should really get that dermal regenerator. Crossing to the attached bathroom, she washes her hands and regards herself in the mirror before undoing her hair. It falls around her shoulders in an dark wave. She purses her lips at her reflection, thankful that years have given her face the grace it lacked as a child. She grabs a box of tissues and the first aid kit before going back into her bedroom where she perches on the bed to begin cleaning the scrapes.

She clenches her fingers in the bedding as the peroxide burns away the dirt in the cuts.

Idly, she wonders what it would be like if she let them scar.

**

The too-bright lights of Starfleet Medbay remind Nyota of the sun in Koyo when she would run from the sweet shop back to her grandmother’s house. She should go back there while the Enterprise is being refit.

More like resurrected, her brain supplies from nowhere.

She glances at her captain, the other site of resurrection, and smiles. His face is too smooth in repose, but Spock has assured her that he has awoken. A warmth at her side prompts her attention away from Kirk and her smile becomes brittle as she turns to Spock. His eyes are on his captain and they are like lightning coursing through the finest whiskey.

_When was the last time he looked at me like that?_

She folds her arms over her chest and refuses to entertain the thought. Spock loves her. She knows this. And yet her doubts won’t remain silent.

“I’m gonna go,” she half-whispers to Spock whose gaze slowly moves away from his captain’s prone form like it is mired in his mere presence.

“But the Captain has yet to awaken. I thought—“

“You have more to talk about than I do. I’ll stop by some other time,” she says with more understanding than she feels.

Spock inclines his head. She rises on her toes to kiss his cheek, not daring to kiss his mouth; on most days she can handle his lack of response, but not today, not with the captain laying five feet away, not with doubt eating at her like this. He leans into her kiss slightly and that buoys her enough.

“I’ve got to go talk to Scotty about the refit anyway,” she says as she sinks back onto her heels.

Spock’s eyebrows draw together and Nyota can see the argument they’ve been having as it begins to surface. “It is not your duty to participate in the refit.”

Nyota pulls away from him. “We’ve been over this. They need more hands and I’m on leave anyway. I’m perfectly capable of working with an engine and you know it.”

“What if you are needed on Earth?”

“It’s less than hour’s shuttle ride and I’ll keep my comm with me,” Nyota says, exasperated.

Spock looks like he wants to protest, but he doesn’t and Nyota is thankful for that at least.

“Will you come over tonight?” she asks before she thinks better of it. Spock hasn’t come to her apartment since…well, since before Nibiru and the now-ceased cold war between them.

Their eyes lock and for a moment everything falls away and it’s like nothing is wrong. Spock nods and Nyota feels a strong rush of relief.  

A murmur from the bed draws Spock’s attention and Nyota leaves the room before she has to see them interact. Her doubts are enough. She doesn’t need them validated.

She comms Scotty as soon as she leaves the hospital, and gets no answer. She takes a bus to what’s left of Starfleet HQ and tries her comm again.

“Scotty here.”

“Lieutenant Uhura. We had a meeting scheduled for 1300 hours. My day opened up and I was wondering if we could meet earlier.”

A loud bang echoes through her comm and she can feel the vibrations in her palm. “Everything all right on your end?” she asks, a little worried.

“O’ course,” Scotty answers after a moment of silence. “Er, we can meet, but—and I’m sorry about this Lieutenant—I forgot we had something scheduled. I’m at the Yard.”

“Oh,” Nyota says, her mind whirring through her options for the day. If she doesn’t meet Scotty, then she doesn’t get an assignment and that’s—that’s not what she wants at all. “I can meet you there,” she offers.

“Oh well, all right!” Scotty says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I’ll be in Engineering.”

“Uhura out.”

The officer at the shuttle bay doesn’t want to let her on the next shuttle since she doesn’t have a reservation. When she says firmly that she will be on the shuttle since she’s Enterprise crew, the young man blanches and immediately accommodates her. Respect is one of the only benefits of surviving tragedy.

It’s a twenty-five minute shuttle ride from San Francisco Shuttle Bay to the Yard and Nyota closes her eyes for the duration. Not out of fear, but rather, exhaustion. Sunlight flashes in through the viewports tinging her eyelids pink.

It turns out that Scotty isn’t in engineering, but a stray Ensign points her to the bridge where Scotty is apparently tinkering with the consoles.

When she finally runs across Scotty, he’s on his stomach, nearly submerged into the wall of the bridge beneath the science station, his curses echoing into the metallic interior.

“Need some help?” she asks, a laugh in her voice.

Scotty sits up abruptly, his head narrowly missing the underside of the console. Nyota gasps as his reddish-brown hair scrapes the metal, but he doesn’t seem to notice his near injury as he stands, rubbing his hands against the legs of his coveralls. “Lieutenant! Shit. I said I’d be in Engineering, didn’t I?”

Nyota crosses her arms and raises her left eyebrow; as a good an imitation of Spock as she can muster. “You did,” she confirms.

He laughs and apologizes, “Sorry if it was hard to find me. I got a wee bit distracted.”

“No harm, no foul,” she admits.

“You said in your message that you wanted to help with the refit?” the lieutenant commander begins as he settles into one of the unbroken chairs on the bridge.

“Yes, actually. I took basic engineering classes at the Academy and if there’s anything I can do to get her spaceworthy again then I want to do it.”

Scotty doesn’t respond, like he knows that she’s not done explaining. He looks at her evenly, and without exactly intending to, the words pour from her mouth. “And with the captain hospitalized and Spock taking care of administrative work, things have been…stressful, to say the least, and I could just use the distraction.”

Scotty nods once and pushes himself up onto his feet. “Sounds good to me. I’ve got a handful of people working round the clock on main repairs. If you only have general background then you’re going to be doing mostly newt work.”

"Newt work?”

“Oh, sorry. No one Else Wants To,” Scotty explains.

“Shouldn’t it be NOEWT then?”

“Newt sounds a bit better don’t you think?” he replies, a grin threatening to break across his face.

Not sure how to respond, Nyota simply says, “Sure.”

“We’ll have to get you some coveralls and then I think I’ll send you out to disassemble the nacelles.”

“Disassemble, sir?”

Scotty runs a hand over his face before answering. It leaves a smudge of grease on the left side of his chin. Nyota finds herself stifling another laugh as she tries to keep her smile neutral. Laughing at your CO on your first day can’t be a good beginning to any professional relationship, no matter the history.

“They were too damaged during the fight so we’re scrapping the old nacelles for parts and plastering on some shiny new ones.”

“Sounds good. Just point me in the right direction,” Nyota says, feeling the excitement of an assignment begin to swell in the tips of her fingers like a pleasurable itch.

“Och, not yet, lass,” Scotty says, holding up a finger. “First, I want to put your little hands to use.”

“Okay?” she says, hesitant.

“There’s a switch underneath the science station. I was tryin’ to reach it before you interrupted me.”

“Sorry,” Nyota says on reflex.

Scotty grins. “No harm, no foul.”

She crawls under the station with a smirk and asks, “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

“Found the switch?”

Nyota reaches her arm up and behind the console, fumbling for a moment before her hand lands on something with a little give. She grasps it as she says, “Found it.”

“Okay, now toggle it to the left.” She does. “That’s off.”

She emerges from the console and notices that her skirt has ridden up. She looks up at Scotty who is pointedly staring at the ceiling and can’t help the giggle that escapes her. Scotty looks at her momentarily as she stands, straightening her uniform. “What’re you laughing at?” he asks with a hint of teasing in his voice.

“You,” Nyota responds with a grin and Scotty gasps overdramatically, playing into the farce.

“Me? Why would you ever laugh at poor old me?”

“Like what you see?” she asks, and immediately regrets it. She’s just crossed the line between friendly banter and outright flirting. No matter what’s going on between her and Spock, it makes her feel guilty. Something must show in her expression because the mirth drains from Scotty’s face within seconds.

“Is everything all right, Lieutenant?”

Nyota is thankful for the return to rank as she straightens her shoulders. “Of course, sir. I’d just like to get to work.”

Scotty shakes his head. “No sirs here. Call me Scotty. Everyone does. And I’ll walk you to your assignment.”

Nyota’s thankful for the company even if he casts nervous glances at her every few minutes.

Scotty hands her a suit and sends her into the airlock with a reassuring pat on the back. She hasn’t been on spacewalk since her first field training at the Academy. An engineer already at work on the nacelle uses a lot of hand gestures to explain what Nyota should be doing. Mostly it’s just tearing stuff up. The weightlessness is unnerving at first, but the mindless physical labor is almost meditative and the day passes quickly with her tearing apart casings and removing fuel cells. She loves every minute of it.

Her apartment finds her a little more bruised and sore than when she left it and she immediately stumbles into the shower to pummel the tightness from her muscles. The hot water soothes her and she stays in for far too long.

Toweling her hair she exits the bathroom in her robe and reaches for her comm. She sends a message to Spock letting him know that she’s back home and she’s not sure if she should be looking forward to his arrival or dreading it.

She makes a cup of tea and settles onto the couch with her padd. She feels like reading and settles on Jane Eyre. She hasn’t read that in a while.

The sun sets and she’s still reading. In fact, it’s nearly ten o’clock and there’s no word from Spock. Feeling disappointed and tired, she crawls into bed hoping that she’ll wake up to a messaged explanation.


	2. Chapter 2

It is too hot in the lecture hall. At first, Nyota thinks it’s just her as she swipes her hair from her neck, she’s going to have to start wearing her hair in a ponytail if it’s always this hot in Academy buildings. Then she notices another student rub his hand across his forehead, wiping away phantom sweat. At least she knows she isn’t going into early menopause or something.

The lecture hall slowly fills with students, all wiping sweat away conspicuously. Finally, the professor strides the room and Nyota sucks in a sharp breath. It’s the Vulcan professor from the other night. Suddenly, the redness in her cheeks is no longer due only to the heat of the room. She forces herself not to be embarrassed. It’s just her professor. And in a flash, she understands why it's so hot. She remembers Sortok’s house never using the aircon and when she asked he said, _Vulcan is a desert planet. Much hotter than this place. In fact, I find this temperature rather...cool._

The Vulcan surveys the room, his eyes glancing over her without pause and she feels relieved. If he remembers her, he doesn’t care.

“The majority of you are exhibiting signs of distress,”  the professor begins as he ticks off the roll call on his padd. He doesn’t call their names and Nyota assumes there must be photo ids on the padd. “Flushed cheeks, perspiration. Classic signs of overheating. Am I correct?”

There is collective sounds of assent. One person in the back of the room exclaims, “God yes. It’s hot as hell in here.”

The professor’s eyes barely flick up to register the student who spoke. He keeps his gaze fixed on the padd, before deciding something (probably finishing roll, Nyota thinks) and shutting it off, setting it delicately on the podium. Nyota watches his long, pale fingers as they disappear behind his back and he assumes parade rest, shoulder back, face immobile. He pins the loud student with his eyes. “In fact, it is hot as Vulcan in here. Not, hot as hell. Though some people would say that the people of Vulcan resemble devils and demons, our home planet is not the classic Judeo-Christian image of hell.”

There is shocked silence, and Nyota can’t help but giggle. She covers her mouth to hide her smile as the class awkwardly joins her laughter.

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow but does not comment. Instead he steps in front of the podium, “I am Professor Spock, you may call me Professor, Spock, or Professor Spock. Please do not call me Doctor Spock. I am not a doctor. Welcome to Intro to Xenobiology. If you are lazy you will fail this course. It a requirement for all cadet to be well versed in the basics of alien physiology and this course will rigorously ensure that that is the case. Today we will begin with Vulcans, and I will lower the temperature to a more human degree.”

A sigh of relief ripples through the classroom. “Computer, lower temperature 20 degrees.”

“Let us begin.”

***

Nyota wakes up to find Spock in the guest room he uses as an office, going through paperwork that looks like it should be done by the captain. She understands though. Somebody has to do it and the captain is no shape to be doing it himself.

She yawns in the doorway and he turns to look at her. “How was your rest? I returned late and did not wish to wake you.”

“It was okay. It would have been better if you came home on time.”

She knows she’s being passive aggressive, and she hates it, but she can’t help it.

“I am sorry. There were some complications with the Captain and I felt it was best for me to stay until the worst had passed.”

Nyota deflates. “What happened? Is he okay?”

A pained look clouds Spock’s eyes. “Unsurprisingly, the Captain thought he was well enough to test the limits of his prescribed daily activity. He collapsed and when Dr. McCoy woke him, he broke into fits of screaming at which point the doctor induced sleep. When he awoke, it was if nothing had happened.”

Nyota places her hand on Spock’s wrist, hopefully a sign of support. “I’m sorry. Does McCoy think he’ll be all right?”

Spock looks away. “He is...worried.”

Nyota swallows, her throat tight. Suddenly, she feels the need to run. She wants the sensation of asphalt beneath her feet, the feeling of time passing, and wind rushing that only running can give.

“I’m going to go on a jog. Will you be here when I get back?”

“After I complete this paperwork, I would like to return to the hospital and monitor Jim’s condition.”

Nyota ignores the way her eyes prickle. “Okay. Well, after the run, I’m headed up to spacedock. Apparently, they have all sorts of stuff that I can do so…”

Spock doesn’t argue and when Nyota kisses him goodbye, it doesn’t feel like he kisses her back.

**

After class, Nyota gathers all of her things and attempts to bustle out of the lecture hall along with the rest of the students. She is stopped by Professor Spock’s commanding tone, “Cadet Uhura.”

She turns around and pastes a friendly smile on her face. She doesn’t know what this is about, but she wants to go lunch. She didn’t eat breakfast and her stomach is not happy about it. She thinks about a turkey sandwich and then scowls. _Your professor is talking to you, FOCUS._

“Yes, sir?”  She stands at attention before the Vulcan’s desk and tries to maintain a friendly expression.

“You are the cadet that fell down the other evening in front of the bookstore, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.”  She’s too hungry to be embarrassed anymore.

“Where did you learn Vulcan?” She can’t help but feel like a butterfly pinned to the notebook of an entomologist beneath his gaze. He keeps eye contact like its a staring match.

“I had a Vulcan neighbor growing up. He taught me some Vulcan.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In Koyo with my grandma.”

“I see. What is your expected concentration?” Spock leans imperceptibly forward as he asks, his brown eyes almost black in the bright fluorescent lights of the lecture hall.

“Communications, sir.”

“What languages do you speak?” he asks, folding his hands together on his desk.

She tries not to sigh as she lists them. She’s proud of her accomplishments, but she really wants that turkey sandwich. “Swahili was my first language, sir. Then I learned Standard as well as sign language and French. I learned Vulcan in my early teens and then taught myself basic Romulan, Andorian and some Klingon, sir.”

Nyota likes the way Spock raises only one eyebrow. “Quite an impressive list. Most communications officers master only 2 languages outside of Standard.”

“I was interested, sir. Especially in the shared linguistic roots of Romulan and Vulcan.”

Spock nods and then asks, “If you are interested, Cadet, I advise an advanced xenolinguistics club which would complement your previous studies. This term the main focus is Vulcan with an emphasis on ancient Vulcan texts. How advanced is your knowledge of the language?”

“I haven’t had a great opportunity to speak it since I was fourteen, but I would say I’m passably fluent though not advanced.”

Spock tilts his head slightly and Nyota pushes down the unwelcome thought _he’s so cute_. “You may require slightly more outside work, but I do not believe it would be unmanageable for you.”

“I’ll think about it, sir.”

“If you choose not to attend the club meetings, but desire conversational practice, I am more than willing to accomadate.”

Nyota feels absurdly flattered and just nods. “I’ll definitely let you know, sir.”

“In the future, Cadet, please call me Spock.”

She ignores the fluttering of her heart as she rushes to the cafeteria. The turkey sandwich tastes even better than she imagined, especially with thoughts of Vulcans fresh in her mind.

_Sartok does not sigh in frustration, but Nyota can tell he is close. “This is not French, Nyota. There is no nasality in Vulcan. Please try again._

_She repeats the phrase and Sartok looks slightly less tense. “Let us take a break.”_

_“Bibi wanted me to invite you for lunch,” Nyota volunteers._

_“I would be happy to attend,” Sartok says, bowing his head. “She does remember that I am a vegetarian, correct?”_

_“Of course,”  Nyota says as she stands. They walk side by side back to her grandmother’s house and Nyota revels in the spicy smell of Sartok’s robes. She knows she has a crush on him something fierce, but Vulcans don’t have feelings so its pointless._

_Besides, she’s thirteen and he’s...actually, she has no idea how old Sartok is, but old enough for a crush on him to be pointless._

_He opens her grandma’s front door for her and she passes through it, a slight brush with Sartok’s robes sending a thrill through her entire body._

***

Nyota runs until her mind is a blank page, and the incessant rustling of her thoughts settles. An idea is beginning to form in her mind, an unpleasant one and as much as she runs that doesn’t change the truth. Her relationship with Spock is coming to an end. She doesn’t want it, but it takes two people to make a relationship work and she thinks—she knows—that Spock’s heart is elsewhere. She’s known it since that moment on the bridge when Spock went after Khan, forsaking his pacifist principles for his captain, his friend, his...beloved. Her mind chokes on the word, but it is made up. She has to talk to Spock. She has to end this. As much as she loves Spock, as much as she think he loves—loved—her, everything has changed.

Her shower is perfunctory. She knows she is going to work up an even greater sweat while in spacedock, but she doesn’t want to offend the noses of everyone on the shuttle with her. She dries her body methodically, letting the steam dissipate from the bathroom. She runs a brush through her hair, counting the strokes, the towel wrapped like a dress around her torso as she sits on the edge of the bed she used to share with Spock. Technically, they do not live together. He has his own apartment. But he spent almost all of his free time here. She pulls her wet hair into a pony tail before going to the closet. She pulls out the black hanging undershirts—there are two—the pair of black trousers. She lays them on the bed. She crosses to the dresser and removes the three pairs of fleet-issue briefs, the six pairs of socks. They pile neatly atop the other clothes. She goes to the bathroom and removes the comb, the shaving cream and razor. She puts them in a plastic bag and places them with her other findings.

Nyota pulls a box from her living from closet and folds all the items neatly inside it. Finally, she places it in the guest bedroom, pulls all of Spock’s styluses and padds from the desk and takes his incense burner to place them on top of the box. Spock can do with them what he will.

Feeling clean despite her halfhearted shower, Nyota goes back into her bedroom and puts on her uniform. She takes her towel and Spock’s--which she removed from the bathroom--and strips the sheets from the bed. She can smell the cinnamon scent of Spock’s body inside the threads. She puts them in the wash, turning it to the hot water setting. A sonic wash is not enough.

Dressed, she stands in front of the bedroom mirror and looks at herself. She pulls out her makeup bag. First, she puts the concealer on under her eyes, covering up the signs of exhaustion. She feels better already. She takes her eyeliner and closes one eye, smoothly running the brush across her lashline. She dips the brush back into the pot and makes a point at the corner. She blinks. The second eye takes no time at all and finishes them with a touch of mascara. Surveying her lipsticks after she set them out on her dresser, she chooses a purplish taupe.

She doesn’t care what kind of work she is doing today or if the makeup sweats off or runs. Right now, she wants to look good and she does.

She sits on her couch and zips up her knee length boots. The box of Spock’s things peeks out from behind the half closed door of her bedroom. She ignores it as she leaves the apartment.

Nyota Uhura is breathing and she will be thankful if it’s the last thing she does.

She can’t wait to be in space.

***

She ends up going to the club meeting, she can’t help it. It’s only been a week and Professor Spock’s class is by far her favorite, which she wishes wasn’t at all due to the fact that she’s slowly falling in love with the way his eyes express everything he’s thinking.

The meeting is good. There are three other students, all third year cadets who are awkward with her at first, but warm as the meeting goes on. Spock is focused and they only speak in Vulcan, which Nyota trips over at first, but by the third week, she feels fluent again.

A month passes and she finally works up the courage to stay after the club meeting. Spock does not seemed surprised as she waits for the other students to leave.

“Yes, Cadet Uhura?”

“I was wondering what other languages you spoke."

Nyota thinks she’s see a smile flit across his face, but can’t be sure. She’s never sure when it comes to Spock.

 "Interesting query, Cadet. Why do you ask?”

 “I was hoping you spoke Romulan. You see, I only know the first dialect and I really wanted to start learning the other two.”

 “I see. I do speak all three dialects of Romulan. Are you asking for me to teach you?”

 “If it’s not too much trouble, sir.”

 “Are you free on Fridays during the lunch hour?”

 “Yes, sir!”  Nyota says, feeling the excitement building.

 “Let us meet then. I will send you relevant materials. It should not be too difficult to master the other dialects given previous knowledge of the language.”

 “Thank you so much, sir!” Nyota feels like jumping up and down and probably will once she leaves his office.

 “The pleasure is mine, Nyota,” Spock says, his eyes still fixed on hers.

 And not for the first time she thinks this might be more than just a professional relationship. She ignores her intuition. She can crush all she likes, but it can’t go anywhere. She’s just happy to be friends with Spock. Because, at this point, she’s pretty sure they are at least that.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Nyota waits for Spock on the couch. She commed him before leaving spacedock and he had assured her that he would be returning to the apartment that night.

“Good. There are some things we need to talk about,” she had replied, trying to keep her tone neutral even though she knew that any form of “we need to talk,” was a generally considered a red flag. But apparently not for Vulcans, since Spock signed off with his customary fondness.

She taps her fingers on the edge of the couch and tries not to get frustrated. If she starts out the conversation frustrated, she’s going to regret it. 

Nyota rushes to Sartok’s house as the sun sets. Her grandmother told her, but it can’t be true. She opens the front door without knocking and bursts into Sartok’s office. “You’re leaving?” she asks in Vulcan. They had long abandoned speaking in Standard once Sartok deemed her grasp of his language “satisfactory.”

“I am,” Sartok replies smoothly, shutting off the padd he had been working on. “I must return to Vulcan.” 

“But why?” she asks. “Are you going to come back?” 

Sartok stands abruptly and looks out the window. “It is unlikely that I shall return. I am to be married, Nyota.” 

“Married?” 

Though she knew her crush on Sartok would never be reciprocated, this revelation is like a hot knife in her gut. She clenches her fists and feels the acute pressure of her nails on her palm.

“It is difficult to explain…” Sartok says vaguely, not turning back to look at her.

“Then don’t.” She slams her way out of his house in much the same way she came in. When she reaches home, she locks her door, and cries into her pillow. She feels unbelievably young and she hates it.

The door to her apartment clicks open and she looks up. Spock stands in the doorway looking uncustomarily nervous. Normally, such a show of emotions would make her smile. Right now, she just feels tired. 

“Come in, Spock. Please sit down,” she says, gesturing at the couch next to her.

Spock takes the offered seat and looks at her calmly. She takes a deep breath and begins. “We have been in a relationship for nearly two years now.”   
“If you are referring to our romantic relationship, then yes. It has been two years and three months. Our friendship has lasted considerably longer.” 

Nyota smiles at his earnest response. So specific. So Spock. She feels like her heart is breaking. This is right, though. Right? 

“Yes. About two years. While I’ve very much enjoyed our time together, I think it would be in our mutual best interest to dissolve the romantic attachment between us.” She knows she sounds clinical, but she can’t help it. If she succumbs to the emotions, they’ll drown her. Besides, Spock will probably understand it better this way. It’s...logical.

She doesn’t expect the look of shock to suffuse Spock’s face, the way his eyebrows simultaneously relax and pinch. “I do not understand. Are you dissatisfied with our relationship?” 

Nyota looks down and hates that she has to answer this. “Yes.”

The silence that falls between them is pained and Nyota does her best to maintain eye contact, to wait and see if he has any response to that. When none comes, she continues. “Ever since what happened with Khan, with Jim, you’ve been distant and I need more than that. Especially right now.” 

“I can make more time for you. I have simply been busy with the administrative tasks that Jim is unable--”

“No, Spock,” Nyota says abruptly, putting a hand up between them to stop his words. “It’s been an issue since before. I thought I was fine in a relationship with you. It was mutually beneficial and whenever you were cold, I told myself that it was because you were Vulcan and I couldn’t expect you to behave like a human boyfriend. Cultural differences. That you didn’t feel passion or jealousy because they were illogical. But then,” she pauses as she chooses her words. Spock’s eyes search her face and she feels the tears begin to burn beneath her eyelids. She has to say it. “But then, when Jim died, I found out I was wrong. You can feel those things.” 

She stops again and swallows against the lump in her throat. She can cry later. Not now. “You can. You just can’t feel them for me.” 

“Do you not believe that I love you?” Spock asks, earnest and quiet. 

“No, I do. I just think you love Jim more.” 

The tears come now, spilling over her cheeks warmly. She sniffs and wipes them away with the back of her hand. “It’s okay, Spock. I love you but I’m not happy anymore and I deserve to be happy.”

“Nyota,” Spock begins, “I value your companionship more than anyone else’s.”   
She laughs through her tears. “I know. We can still be friends. I mean, we are going to be working together. But, we can’t continue how we’ve been.” 

Spock nods reluctantly. “As you wish.” 

Nyota stands and gestures to the back rooms. “I packed up most of your things, but you can finish. I’ll leave for a bit and let you take care of it.” 

As she passes him, Spock grabs her wrist and presses a kiss to the center of her palm. “Thank you for everything, Nyota.” 

She pulls her hand away slowly and doesn’t look back as she leaves the room. She’s afraid of losing her resolve if she does.

The night air is warm and welcomes her wanderings. She doesn’t have a specific destination in mind, but ends up at her favorite bar from her academy days. There are a few cadets scattered throughout the tables and a pair are playing pool in the back. They all eye her warily. It’s been a long time since she could go anywhere without being vaguely recognized as part of the infamous Enterprise crew. 

She slides onto a stool and orders a jack and coke. It is not her intent to get drunk, but she thinks alcohol will take the edge off the gnawing pit in her stomach. She is considering her half empty glass, contemplating ordering another when a familiar voice asks from behind her, “Is this seat taken?” 

Her smile is genuine as she gestures for Scotty to sit down. He orders a Scotch much to Nyota’s amusement. While he waits for the bartender to pour he gets a look at her face and his comically elastic features contort into something like surprise mingled with concern. “You’re not looking to happy tonight, lass.” 

Nyota shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. 

Scott throws up his hands in the universal sign for “no offense” before tucking into his own drink. 

Shaking her head at her rudeness, she turns to him. “Spock and I broke up.” 

The sentence falls out sharply and while she had been trying not to seem rude, she thinks she just made it worse. 

Scotty seems to consider her words, but, thankfully, doesn’t ask any questions. She doesn’t want to talk about it, and that’s pretty clear. “Well, in that case, your next drink is on me,” he offers, gesturing for another round.  
Well, that decision made itself. She downs the rest of her first drink and takes the second glass with cursory thanks. 

“You know, I really keep meaning to thank you for using your leave to help with the refit,” Scotty says, eager as ever to start a conversation. 

“If I can help, I should,” Nyota replies, trying to not sound dismissive. When Scotty doesn’t continue the conversation, she starts to think that she didn’t succeed. Grasping for something to say, she adds, “Besides, shouldn’t you technically be on leave too?”

“Aye, but I can’t leave the lady to be tinkered with by just anyone. That’s how you lose sleep at night.” 

He’s so vehement in his response that he sloshes a little whiskey out of his glass onto the countertop. Nyota laughs and the way Scotty’s face lights up at the sound makes her blush. She fiddles with the stir stick in her drink. An altogether inadvisable idea wiggles its way into her head. 

“After we finish these drinks, do you maybe want to go somewhere...quieter?” Never let anyone say that Nyota Uhura doesn’t know her way around a seduction. 

Scotty turns a unique shade of red and looks into the amber liquid of his drink. “Oh, aye. That might be--be nice.” 

Nyota graces him with a winning smile. Abandoning all pretense, she sets down her glass and stands. They walk back to her apartment as they exchange casual conversation. 

As she unlocks her apartment door, it dawns on her that maybe Spock hasn’t finished packing. She dismisses the thought. Spock is ruthlessly efficient and it's been nearly two hours.

As she suspected the apartment is empty. She smiles back at Scotty and pulls him through the doorway. He looks nervous but she thinks she can fix that.

“Thanks for coming back to my place,” she purrs as she presses against him. It’s been a long time since she played this game, but she’s pretty sure it hasn’t changed. 

“I’m happy to,” Scotty says as he brings his hands up to her hips. She ignores the awkwardness and presses her lips against his. 

She tries to be confident but their noses bump together as he turns his head to the right. Spock had always turned his head to the left. She pushes the thought away. It has no place anymore. She brought Scotty back for a reason, wanting to be in the moment, to forget.

Suddenly, firm hands on her shoulders bring her back to the present as Scotty pushes her marginally back. “Look, I don’t,” Scotty breaks off and steps away as he runs a hand over his mouth. “I’m gonna kick myself in the morning, but I don’t think I can do this.” 

Something in his tone grates on Nyota’s nerves and she snaps. “If you’re trying to spare my feelings, don’t bother.” 

Scotty raises his hands helplessly. “That’s not...that’s not what I meant. Look, I like you.” 

“Then why is this a problem?” Nyota asks, her hands settling on her hips in frustration. 

“No, you don’t understand, Ny. I’ve liked you for a long time, but you were with the Commander and as much as I’m certain I’d love to fall into bed with you, I don’t think I can do it like this. I wanted to woo you. I wanted to do it right.” 

He looks utterly sincere and slightly heartbroken. It makes Nyota feel guilty. Without much warning, her tipsiness leaves her and she folds onto the couch, with her feet beneath her. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” 

“And I was there. Yeah, I’ve heard it before. Shockingly enough you’re not the first lass to turn to me in times of trouble.” 

And that hurts Nyota even more. “You can go now. I hope this doesn’t change our working relationship. I’d really started to think of you as a friend.” 

All this comes out more tearfully than she had anticipated. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t cry very often,” she says through the tears and it all strikes her as a certain kind of ridiculous. A failed hook up was not what she had in mind for the night. 

“Yeah, you didn’t exactly strike me as the crying type,” Scotty says, appearing next to her with the box of tissues from her side table. She takes one with a half-hearted chuckle. “Now me? I’m a big ball of weep. Just give me a cute picture of dogs or a romantic holovid and I’m lost.” 

Half-hearted turns into a full on laugh and Scotty grins back. “You have a very beautiful laugh, lass.” 

This makes her stomach do a happy sort of tumble and she smiles back at him genuinely. “Thanks for being honest with me, Scotty.” 

“You’re very welcome,” he says as he takes her hand and gives it a friendly squeeze. 

Nyota looks at their joined hands and realizes for the first time how right Scotty was for stopping them. It would’ve been nice sure, but...she needs a break. “I think I’m gonna head to bed.”   
Scotty opens his mouth to reply and Nyota admonishes, “ Don’t worry. Alone. You can stay on the couch if you like, but I don’t think you’re that drunk.” 

Scotty smiles. “ You’re right. I’m not. I think I’ll head out. But if you need me, you have my number.”

“I do,” Nyota assures him as she follows him to the door. In a last minute moment of impetuousness she kisses him on the cheek and he looks at her, slightly shocked. “Don’t think the fact that I’m turning you out now doesn’t mean I’m not interested.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Scotty says, holding her gaze for an extra few seconds before turning away. Nyota shuts the door behind him. Her apartment is awfully quiet.

***  
“Checkmate,” Spock says smugly and after a cursory examination of the board, Nyota tips her king in defeat. 

“I do not know why you continue to insist upon these matches when you know I will win,” Spock admonishes as he resets the board. They’re done for the night but this is his habit. Everything has to be in place before he can rest. It’s not the first time she’s been in his quarters but every time feels like a victory.

“I like to see you squirm,” Nyota returns, knowing full well that it’s far too flirtatious a comeback for a professor. Nevertheless,. Spock’s ears turn slightly green and she’s graced with the beautiful glitter in his eyes that tells her he’s happy. 

“I do not ‘squirm,’ Nyota. However, I must admit that your techniques have taken a rather...fascinating turn.”

It’s Nyota’s turn to smile. “I gotta keep you on your toes,” she says as she reaches to help him with the erstwhile chess pieces.

“It does not seem as if you have to try,” Spock replies in uncharacteristically quiet tones. Their fingers brush over a white pawn and Nyota catches her breath. Is this it? She feels like they’ve been dancing around it since her first private session in his office. That was months ago. 

She’s not disappointed. Spock takes her hand and pulls it into his larger, cooler ones. “Nyota, I--” he breaks off and looks away. 

Nyota covers his hand with hers and no one could say that this gesture is anything but romantic. “It’s okay, Spock.” She calls him by his name without the title, something she reserves for only their most intimate of moments. And if this doesn’t count, what would? “I think I know what you’re getting at.” 

“It is inappropriate. You are a cadet. I am a professor,” Spock insists, but he does not release her hands.

“You’re not my professor anymore.” It’s true, besides their one-on-one sessions, Nyota hasn’t been Spock’s student for three months. 

“I do not know if the admiralty will care for such specifications,” he says, his lips pursed. Nyota knows he’s not angry with her, but rather the expression is a result of tightly leashed emotions and for a moment, she begins to hope.

“Well, I know I don’t.” She sounds stronger than she feels with her heart hammering in her chest, but she doesn’t give a damn. She turns Spock’s hand in hers and presses their fingers together. “This is what I want. You can’t deny that you feel it too.” 

There is a pause. An infintesimal moment of bated breath between them before Spock exhales. “I cannot.” 

Then, somehow, they’re standing, and there’s not a table between them and she’s in Spock’s arms and it feels more than perfect. She can smell the incense on his uniform and feel the hard lines of his chest against hers. She looks up into his eyes and forgets all regulations and warnings, even the words of her bibi, years before even if she was talking about another Vulcan. He’s different. You can’t expect him to know how you feel. To understand the complexities of the human heart..

“Ashayam,” he whispers before kissing her. She is fluent enough in Vulcan to return the sentiment completely. 

***

Three months into their five-year-mission finds Nyota descending the steps into the depths of engineering. She’s off duty and she’s had a good day. She translated two Romulan transmissions and submitted her findings to Starfleet, her shift on the bridge was active but not hectic, and she had her first not-awkward breakfast with Spock that very morning. It was polite and normal and for the first time, Nyota didn’t feel even a ghost of pain when the Captain took a seat next to him and smiled that sunshine smile. It’s over. She is over it. 

She doesn’t want to be ungrateful. All in all, it was a pretty painless breakup as breakups go, but it’s nice not to feel like she’s carrying around a weight or a dark cloud or some other suiting melancholy metaphor. 

Keenser nearly runs into her at the foot of the stairs and emits a rather high pitched squeak. She laughs. “Sorry, Keenser. I’m looking for Scotty.”   
Looking distinctly offended, Keenser gruffly points her in the right direction. She thanks him but she doesn’t think he’s listening, too busy huffing about officers not looking where they’re going. Nyota shakes her head and heads deeper into engineering.

Even though Keenser’s directions were minimal and brusque, Nyota doesn’t have to go far before she’s guided by the sound of the engineer’s thick brogue as he instructs his officers about their business.

“No! Not there, Martinelli! Are you trying to blow up the whole ship? Just...give me the damn thing, I’ll show you.”

And so Nyota finds him, halfway into the belly of a cooling tank with a nervous ensign standing over him. Nyota smiles at the girl who tucks a curl behind her ear and returns the smile hesitantly. 

“And that’s how you maintain polar integrity,” Scotty says with a determined air of finality as he emerges from the tank. “Oh, Nyota. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks as he hands his tool to the ensign with a halfhearted wave. The poor girl catches the piece of metal and scurries off. 

Nyota thinks that her favorite pastime could be finding Scotty in engineering. He never looks quite as excited as when he’s covered in coolant, oil and sweat. “I’m off shift, and I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner.” 

It’s like something shortcircuits in Scotty’s brain as he gapes at her. Then points after the ensign. Then points back at her. “You want to get dinner?” He swallows audibly. 

Grinning, Nyota answers, “Yes, but you should really clean yourself up. You wouldn’t want to show up to a first date looking like that.” 

Scotty absentmindedly rubs his hands down his shirt which only accomplishes making both parties more grimy. “Oh...I...think I can do that.” 

“How’s 1900? In my quarters?” 

“Good,” he says as he finally closes his mouth. “Good by me.”

Nyota leaves engineering with a decided spring in her step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally done. sorry it took so long. i went through a break up and, to be quite honest, writing a break up fic while going through a break up is not exactly the bees knees. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
